


A Tale of Two Fathers

by greenfairy13



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Barbara Gordon (mentioned) - Freeform, Barbara Gordon is Batgirl, Batman (mentioned) - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Jim's POV, M/M, Martin Cobblepot (mentioned) - Freeform, Mayor Oswald Cobblepot, References to Depression, Starting Over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23933875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenfairy13/pseuds/greenfairy13
Summary: Another take on the series finale. Jim never arrested Oswald and is, 21 years later, still Gotham's Commissioner while Oswald is back to being the city's mayor. His work managed to destroy his private life, and now it seems his daughter's development into Batgirl might destroy his career, too.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Jim Gordon
Comments: 17
Kudos: 35





	1. Land of Gods and Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> Comments will result in me writing the second part faster - probably.

Jim Gordon, the Commissioner of Gotham City, looks at the elegant invitation for the third time, shakes his head in exasperation, and pockets it carelessly. 

_ Twenty-one years _ , he thinks bitterly.  _ And that’s how it ends.  _

Taking another swig directly from the bottle, he tries figuring out how to deal with the bone-crushing tiredness about to swallow him whole. His head feels as if it had been stuffed with cotton-wool and set on fire. His vision is blurry, his hands shaky, and yet he knows exactly if he’d lie down right now sleep wouldn’t be as merciful as to take him. He’d probably just thrash around for hours on end before the dreams would come and shortly after another morning would start already. 

_ Was it worth it? _ he wonders every day. Gotham demanded so many lives and cost him so dearly. Yes, he might still be alive but that’s no grace - it’s a curse, and considering his luck, he isn’t sure if death will ever truly claim him. 

The entire world has turned into a circus. When coming to Gotham all those years ago, Jim had no idea how easy, how  _ innocent _ the city had been. And now? Now the mob is the least of his problems. True Gods have risen, like Superman, the self-proclaimed protector of Metropolis, as well as true monsters. The entire country is torn in an unmatched war between heroes and villains. This country isn’t fighting humans any longer, but meta-humans, beings with unprecedented possibilities, created in secret laboratories by crazed scientists like Hugo Strange; and the whole spectacle had been funded by the government itself when it feared losing power and influence. 

Ah, whom is he kidding? If it was only the government, the situation might still be under control. It seems nowadays each and every bored person with too much money at their disposal has nothing better to do than looking for a way to gain immortality and influence. 

This country is at war with literally  _ everyone _ and Jim Gordon stands in the middle of all this chaos. Not knowing any longer who to trust, he made the decision of protecting the citizens of Gotham - even if that means sacrificing his marriage, his integrity, and his principles.

Amidst that chaos, Gotham is only allowed to thrive somewhat safely due to Bruce Wayne’s massive financial support, a vigilante’s protection, and last but not least the notorious umbrella of one infamous mobster turned mayor again who refuses to pick any side but his own. 

Everything considered, Jim had no other choice to side with Gotham’s criminal underground if he wants to prevent the citizens from becoming casualties in war beyond his comprehension - at least that’s what he tells himself every day. 

But it wasn’t easy. The idealistic man who came to this city all those years ago would have never tolerated the course of action he had chosen. He would have loathed and despised the corrupt Commissioner who even went as far as disposing of evidence that would have brought the current mayor behind bars for a considerable amount of time. 

Had it been the right the decision all those years ago when he warned Oswald Cobblepot about the warrant? Jim still wonders if the stability he undoubtedly brought was worth the stream of blood the Penguin leaves in his wake. 

He’s still calling the mobster out for his mishaps though, attacks him almost on a daily basis, yet at the end of the day, he finds himself working alongside the criminal more often than not. It’s pathetic, really. Like a poodle, Jim Gordon is all bark and no bite and ends up being nothing but a constant nuisance for the mobster. 

Maybe that ends today, though. 

Rubbing his face wearily, he throws over his coat and pockets the little card.  _ He’s being summoned, like a servant. _ This time, Oswald has the perfect ammunition not only to humiliate him, but to force him to dance to his tune however he sees fit. 

And what about Gotham’s other infamous criminal? The caped-crusader, the self-proclaimed warrior of justice? 

Yes, Jim might have betrayed his ideals but the vigilante committed an even greater crime: he took his only daughter. 

When siding with the Penguin, Jim bore his daughter’s silent contempt, understood it, even. After all, she was  _ his _ little girl - just better. His innocent girl was what he could never be, not even on his best day, and he forced her to witness how her daddy openly sided with murderers for  _ the greater good _ . 

And then she had met the Batman, the man who never made foul compromises. 

Jim had been painfully aware of what was happening from the first time she sneaked out of the window to fight for justice, admired her even. He didn’t stop her, simply pretended not to notice. When she called him a hypocrite and a fraud, he didn’t protest. When she gained control of her trust-fund at the age of sixteen and moved out, he didn’t put up a fight. 

Whenever he could, he would follow her into the night and make sure she’d see the light of dawn again. But last night, he had failed her. And the Batman had failed her too. 

_ How could he? _ Jim wonders as he approaches his car. How could the Batman allow for a teenager to break into Gotham’s most famous crimelord’s home? She barely made it out alive, had been shot at, had been cornered. If they had caught her, she might have been killed or jailed, and it would have been up to him to snap the cuffs around his own daughter’s hands. 

So yes, Jim is not only bitter but infuriated. He can’t stop thinking about his beautiful baby-girl lying on the ground, slowly bleeding to her death, or locked behind bars. 

He’s sure her escape is no lucky coincidence though - the ‘invitation’ in his hands if proof of that. No, she merely escaped because Gotham’s mobster number one would never harm his goddaughter while passing off an opportunity to get at her dad instead. 

For the first time ever, Jim is absolutely willing to do  _ everything _ what the criminal demands - in exchange for Barbara’s safety. 

He already wants to unlock the car when another wave of fatigue hits him with the force of a truck. Whenever the anger wears down for more than a second, Jim is reminded of his weakness. Weeks without proper sleep have taken their toll on him and he stumbles against the hood of his car. To anyone passing by, he looks like a drunkard, a filthy, useless part of society that refuses to do the only noble thing: to finally die. 

Jim has the sense of pulling out his phone and calling a cab, least he might drag some innocent bystanders down with him. The brightness of the display feels like it is directly burning his retinas and he doesn’t even know how he manages to type in a single number. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t take his driver long to pull up the sidewalk. Jim doesn’t waste a single second before falling into the seats. Almost unconsciously, he mutters out the address as the motor starts. 

“Hey, you’re Jim Gordon!” the cabbie exclaims excitedly. “Gotham’s white knight, they call you,” he adds with a nod. 

Jim offers him a lopsided grin in return but doesn’t reply. 


	2. Power and Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Oswald have dinner.

Oswald opens the door himself. The simple gesture is as much an honor as a threat, and Jim is entirely not ready for what the criminal has in store for him. 

By the time they are both seated at the Penguin’s ridiculously large dining table, facing each other from across the room as if they were both still in a standoff when Jim has already lost the battle, the cop is about to pass out from exhaustion. 

Curling his lips in frustration, he elicits a little snarl. In return, the Penguin flashes a smile back at him that seems to sum up his entire being. The mayor of Gotham has remained a childlike innocence to his face, a boyish charm that makes the predatory glint in his eyes all the more unsettling. His perfect manners are nothing but a thin veil. If looking only a bit more closely, you’re facing an abyss about to swallow you whole. 

Jim always knew Oswald was unhinged - right from their first encounter behind Fish’s club. He’s the kind of man who isn’t merely interested in his opponents, no, he’s obsessed with them. And Jim always knew that a fair amount of that unhealthy obsession had always been directed at him. When he had still been an umbrella boy, nothing but a faceless number in Gotham’s book of the reckless, he had unashamedly stalked him, weaseled his way into his life, and had managed to become a big part of it. It’s the reason Jim had been repulsed when they first crossed paths, and scared. 

And now? 

Now, he’s no longer scared. Not for himself at least. He’s still terrified though: for his girl, his colleagues, for the citizens of this city. He’s terrified of what the Penguin is capable of, and what he’ll be capable of in the future - and he’s fascinated. 

He can’t deny that over the years, Oswald has become more than an occasional ally. Jim would never admit it out loud, but in times of need, it’s the Penguin he turns to first - not the Batman, not Bruce Wayne. And despite everything, he loathes the other man for the cruelty he’s capable of, can’t stop criticizing him any given moment of the day. Sometimes he wonders how he’s still alive. What makes him so special the crowned king of the underbelly doesn’t snuff out his lights? 

“You’re very quiet this evening, Commissioner,” the Penguin states. Taking another sip of his excellent wine, he tzk’s condescendingly at his guest. “Even for your standards,” he adds with a fake chuckle. 

Jim makes a show of rolling his eyes. He’s ready to drop his head into the scalding hot soup in front of him and take a nap right there. 

“It’s funny you noticed,” he replies airily. “I’ve recently come to the conclusion you enjoy talking much more than listening.” 

The mobster hisses through his teeth in response. “You haven’t tasted your food,” he notes. “Not to your liking?” he asks sincerely.

Jim stares at his untouched plate and shrugs. The food smells delicious, but after the weeks he had, all he feels is a constant urge to throw up. He’s practically running on scotch and cigars, isn’t even sure when he last ate something that didn’t come from a vending machine. 

He tries the soup though and just as expected, his stomach revolts and craves more at the same time. 

Briefly, Jim wonders if his invitation might have no ulterior motive. Like him, the gangster must be awfully lonely. He and Edward, or the Riddler, as he loves to call himself, had worked together for an entire decade. Yet at one point, the psychopath had become unpredictable, dangerous even for the ones closest to him. Absorbed in his need to prove his intelligence and superiority, he had forced his dangerous games upon Oswald, too. Infuriated when his lover had finally failed to solve his riddles, riddles that grew erratic and irrational over the years, Oswald had had no other choice but to team up with the cop once more to catch his former husband. At least he’s being excellently cared for - the Penguin’s money and influence made sure Nygma would never see Arkham from the inside again. 

“I’d love to talk about the literal elephant in the room,” Oswald announces, effectively startling the cop. Usually, he loves playing with his prey more. 

Jim is almost grateful, though. He prefers getting shot at over being slowly sliced into little pieces - and he should know, he experienced both on more than one occasion. 

“And here I already thought you enjoy the privilege of my company,” the cop retorts. 

“Oh, I do,” Oswald reassures, arching an eyebrow at his counterpart. “But we both know I’m only being granted this privilege whenever our beautiful city is at the brink of destruction.” 

“Which is currently not the case.”

“Exactly.” The gangster nods, pleased. “But someone very important to both of us has chosen a quite dangerous path,” he adds, looking Jim directly in the eye. “And I suppose we both have an interest in…”

“Keeping things secret,” Jim finishes. “I take it there’s a price to your discretion?” he asks, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. 

Oswald’s face lights up. “Indeed,” he agrees. “I have to say, I’m truly enjoying our conversation tonight.”

“Seems like you’ve finally found my pressure-point,” Jim grumbles sarcastically. 

“Well, James,” the mobster states thoughtfully, “if you know what a man loves, you know how to destroy him.” 

“Wonderful,” Jim huffs. “So what’s your price? Shall I resign? Do you want me to confess breaking into your mansion? Both? Do you want me to follow you into your private torture-chamber?” 

“My price?” Oswald repeats the word slowly, savors it. He’s a cat playing with a mouse. There’s an unearthly quality to the murderer when he slowly rises from his seat, only illuminated by a few candles decorating their table. He limps over, painfully slowly, yet still way too fast, and with each step, he vanishes in the darkness, only to resurface again. And then this marble, ageless face is then in front of Jim, and those sharp, intelligent eyes judge him. 

Oswald’s breath feels cold on his face, and way too fresh. Sharp teeth, like a shark’s, swim into his vision when he speaks, and it takes Jim a moment to catch on. 

“I want to have dinner with you.”

Jim blinks. He must have misheard. Oswald tilts his head, a sad look crossing his features before he takes the place next to him. 

“I want to have dinner with you,” he repeats. “And I’d like you to enjoy it.” 

“What?” Jim blurts out. 

Sighing, the thin man rubs his injured leg before folding his fingers beneath his chin. 

“Everyone we have known,” he commences, “everyone we have loved is either dead or insane. This city has all swallowed us whole.” 

Toying with one of the rings on his fingers, he stares at Jim. “Harvey is long gone, Lee is...well, you know better than anyone else what happened when she injected herself with the Tetch virus again.”

Jim nods slowly in response. 

“My Edward doesn’t remember his name, Martin…” Oswald’s voice breaks off. “I don’t forget my debts, ever,” he whispers, looking down at the table, visibly ashamed. “My tongue will remain tied for as long as you don’t use him against me.” 

Rubbing his face wearily, Jim barely conceals his incredulousness. “How should I?” he blurts out. 

“You know how,” he shoots back sharply. “We both know my boy is…”

“An arsonist,” Jim finishes. “And his daddy is a billionaire and one of the most influential men in this country. Whatever he burns down, you’d buy it and cover it up,” the cop states. 

“And if that was a publicly-known fact, I wouldn’t be mayor.”

“I highly doubt that,” the blonde growls. Dropping his face into his hands, Jim starts rubbing his temples. The warmth of the room, Oswald’s intoxicating cologne, his mere proximity, are getting to him. He had been sure this would end in a lengthy negotiation, a power-play, his resignment. He’s almost disappointed. Tomorrow, he’ll still have to carry on, he’ll still have to fight. God, he’s tired. 

“I would never expose Martin to the press, and you know that,” Oswald argues. 

Jim doesn’t reply. Yes, he might have thought about that possibility before, and discarded it just as quickly. Martin might be a bit insane but he never hurt anyone with his strange ‘hobby’. All he does is burning down abandoned buildings, he even makes sure they are neither inhabited by animals nor humans before setting them on fire. His addiction led to Oswald owning a lot of worthless lands though. 

“Barbara,” the raven-haired man presses. 

“Don’t,” Jim interrupts, voice hoarse. He’s surprised how he feels a lump in his throat merely at the mention of her name. 

“Barbara has become like the rest of us,” Oswald finishes, unfazed. 

The cop’s head snaps up. It’s the rage that leads to him being wide-awake once more. “She’s nothing like you or me,” he spits. “She’s…”

“Better? Mor pure? Innocent?” Oswald offers with a light shrug. “She crossed a line the other night,” he points out. “She made the decision to break the law and shoot at my men,” he concedes. 

“No,” Jim yelps, horrified. 

“I’d never allow for her to get harmed,” he reassures. Taking a deep breath, the mobster leans forward and before Jim has a chance to move, he feels the murderer slightly squeezing his arm. “I remember her playing on this very carpet,” he elaborates, pointing his cane at the floor. “I remember her playing with my dog while I would argue with her mother. You think I didn’t recognize her the moment she crashed through my window?” Oswald snorts. “Do you think I don’t know who’s fault all that is? Br…”

“Bratman,” Jim interrupts him quickly, eyes widening in sudden horror. The criminal laughs out loud. 

“That’s an appropriate title,” he snorts. “The little brat boy billionaire. If Martin ever finds a more suitable way to express his hatred towards me, he can join Gotham’s little trust fund-kids club. He’ll fit right in with Bruce and Barbara,” Oswald acknowledges bitterly. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Jim,” he grumbles when glancing over at the detective. “I’ve known that kid for decades. You don’t truly think I wouldn’t recognize him just because he pretends Halloween is every day of the year all of a sudden.” 

“Barbara is no criminal, though,” Jim protests, folding his arms across his chest, which causes the Penguin to chuckle. 

“Keep telling that yourself,” he almost sing-songs, clearly bemused. 

“She’s a good kid,” Jim states stubbornly. 

“And an unhinged teenager,” Oswald chides. “I have to admit, I thought you’d teach her better.”

For one insane second, Jim simply wants to strangle Oswald, wants to lunge across the table and throttle him until the life fades from his body. Instead, he breaks down. 

“Barbara hates me,” he admits, at last, more to himself than to the Penguin.

Looking up, Jim finds the mobster practically boring his eyes into him. “Quite right,” he agrees. “As she hates her mother, her godfather, her granddad Harvey...She’s a teenager, Jim.”

“It’s more than that!” Jim protests and Oswald laughs. 

“She’ll come around. You’re all she has.”

Tha cop snorts self-deprecatingly. 

The gangster’s head snaps out. His face is open, vulnerable when addressing Jim once more. “She has no idea how much that’s worth. Calling you your guardian,” he admits, toying forlornly with his empty glass. “A child so much like you, so headstrong, so naive” he muses. “You’ve been honest with her,” he continues as he proceeds to twirl the glass between those elegant fingers. “I wonder how she’ll react should she discover the truth about her new hero.” 

Before Oswald has a chance to elaborate, Jim lunges across the table and catches that spider-like hand in a bone-crushing grasp. The Penguin yelps softly, yet doesn’t move. 

“Not. A. Single. Word. Else…” Jim leaves the threat hanging, causing the other man to curl his lips in bemusement. 

“Else what?” he challenges. “What do you think would happen if your precious baby-girl finds out Gotham’s heroes are all nothing but hypocrites? They are all the same, those men working with the same gangster for the greater good, hmm? The earlier she grows up, the earlier she’ll be able to make up with her dad. And trust me,” he bristles, “she’ll be glad she’s given the chance before her daddy catches a bullet.”

Snarling angrily, Jim slightly pushes the Penguin away. “That a threat?” he asks. 

“No, a statement,” Oswald retorts, calmly straightening out his jacket and Jim has had enough. Dropping his spoon, he rises to his feet and turns to leave. 

“Sit down,” the Penguin hollers at that, dropping the false politeness immediately. “As you haven’t paid the price, I’m raising my demands.”

Spinning around on his heel, Jim drops his upper body against the table, causing the soup to spill over. “How dare you going up against your own..”

The Penguin halts his tirade with a motion of his hand. “It’s her father I’m stopping from destroying himself completely. You’re but a single man and you can’t continue sneaking out night after night to protect her. The Batman won’t be able to watch her at all times either. What I’m able to offer, though, is true protection. I’ll let it be known that anyone who lays their hands on Batgirl will have to answer me. And in return, you’ll be a good boy.” 

Grinning victoriously, he indicates for Jim to sit back down. The other man freezes for a split second. Gritting his teeth, he finally obeys. 

“Is that more what you expected from me?” Oswalds asks haughtily. And there is it again, this obsession, this lust for control that repulses and attracts Jim all the same. 

Leaning over, the mobster reaches for the cop’s tie, slides a single digit lovingly across the uninspired pattern. “Twenty-one years,” he murmurs, slowly pulling Jim closer. “Twenty-one years and I’ve finally offered you a deal even you can’t reject.”

Swallowing heavily, Jim feels his throat run dry. 

“I could control every move you make,” he contemplates. “Every word you say in public, ever.” When he looks up though, he looks nothing but victorious. “I could save this city a hundred more times and everyone you love and you still wouldn’t see anything but a monster, James.” 

Not giving him a chance to reply, Oswald rolls the tie around his fist, yanking Jim closer. Dry lips crash against his own and despite himself, Jim closes his eyes, gets lost in the feeling of a wet tongue sliding into his mouth. 

He moans into the other mouth, opens up willingly as he gives in all to easily. Tilting his head, Jim pulls Oswald closer until he’s all but sitting on his lap, one hand tangled in that silky hair. 

Jim leans back against the chair. Embracing the gangster now fully, he feels the heat emanating the other body, hears each and every little sound the fragile, deadly creature makes as it squirms in his grasp. He remembers all the moments the other man almost died, remembers the moments he stood between the gangster and a loaded gun, willing to die for the other man. 

Reluctantly, Jim pulls one hand from Oswald’s hip just so he can feel his beating heart beneath his fingers. 

It’s the first time they kiss, and it feels as if they had been doing this for decades.

He doesn’t know who pulls back first, but he knows they both need a breath of air - for they are both so very much  _ alive _ . 

It’s Oswald, always Oswald, who takes the lead - even and especially now when Jim isn’t even sure what he’s doing. He only knows he’s being pulled down dark hallways, pushed against walls every other step just to feel a pair of lips against his own. 

He vaguely notes deft fingers tugging at his tie, loosening the knot before pulling it from his form completely. His shirt follows next, almost causing him to trip when it hits the floor the very moment Oswald lures him into another room. His legs hit something soft and he’s barely aware of the fact that they reached the mobster’s bedroom. 

Oswald’s weight presses him into the mattress as a delicate hand palms him through his pants and with his last coherent thought, he manages to catch said hand. 

“I can’t,” he whispers so softly he isn’t sure he said it out loud. Jim’s head drops against the pillow and it takes him every last ounce of strength not to immediately fall asleep. 

Above him, he registers a shocked noise. The hand pulls back, and with it, the consoling warmth of another body. Reaching forward, Jim stops Oswald from fleeing the bedroom. 

“Please stay,” he begs and it sounds more like a sob.  _ Please, please stay _ , he chants over and over in his own head while clinging to the other man. He can’t give Oswald what he wants, not right now, not in this state. 

Opening his eyes slowly, Jim finds a confused Penguin staring back at him. His skilled, rosy tongue is caught between his teeth as he examines him with furrowed brows. Jim can’t resist, he pulls him down against his own chest, inhaling the fresh scent of cedar deeply. 

This, right here, is the best feeling he’ll ever get. It’s always Oswald who gets to see him at his lowest, in his most vulnerable state without pushing him away but embracing him. Only now, he realizes something very obvious: Oswald loves him. Unconditionally. 

“Please don’t leave me,” he repeats, hoping he’ll understand again - and forgive him. 

The body above him relaxes ever so slightly as it eases down next to him. Jim closes his eyes again, curls up against the warmth. 

“Barbara doesn’t have to know,” Oswald cautiously offers, at last, clearly thinking that’s what is holding back Jim. 

Unable to collect his thoughts, he squeezes his old friend reassuringly. “I’ll tell her first thing tomorrow morning her dad and her godfather hooked up,” he murmurs, throwing an arm over his eyes. It’s such a novelty, Jim thinks, to feel finally safe, at home. 

“What?” Oswald shifts in his arms, trying to get a better look at him and Jim removes his limb from his face. 

“That is, if you want.” It’s his turn to look up at the gangster uncertainly. 

Oswald’s face falls at the confession and Jim freezes. Fuck, he obviously got that wrong. Before he can scramble from the bed though, his expression turns into something else. As the words slowly sink in, he seems to be illuminated from the inside. What Jim witnesses can only be described as awe. Oswald stares at him like a kid seeing a Christmas-tree for the very first time and then, his features shift again. Something dark sneaks inside, something utterly possessive, and terrifying.

“You can’t possibly mean that,” he utters. 

“I do,” Jim affirms simply, watching in fascination as the expression deepens. Looking at Oswald almost feels like driving through a tunnel, the lights going out one by one. He’s certain should anything ever happen to him or Barbara, he’ll set the city on fire. Oswald would have to promise him to restrain himself, Jim muses. 

The Penguin searches his face once more, looks for any trace of insincerity. When he finds none, he settles down next to him. 

“Is that wise?” he wonders and Jim knows he already made up his mind when he nestles his head against his chest. 

“I won’t live with a lie as huge as this one,” Jim states firmly. In turn, the mobster hugs him tightly. “Oswald,” he says, and the name feels strange on his tongue, intimate. In this context, it breaks down all the remaining walls. “I won’t change though,” he says when he still can’t tell him what he wants to. It’s true nonetheless. Jim will not ever try stopping the Penguin from crossing the line. On some days, he’ll succeed, on others, he won’t. 

The mobster laughs softly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less of you,” he states and Jim is relieved. They’ll be forever who they are. But now, they’ll be it together. 

He drifts off to sleep with the scent of cedar and filling his nostrils and wakes to it almost sixteen hours later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it that far, a comment would be highly appreciated :)!


End file.
